Free Teased to Death (Misty Newman 1) by Gina LaManna

students."
    "Then get them. But not through the church bulletin."
    "Ugh…" My shoulders slumped. "Fine. But seriously, do you have a recommendation for a good shooting range? My sister is dying to go."
     
    * * *
     
    After meeting with Father Olaf, it was about time to head to the studio for class. Opening the door still felt a little bit creepy, even though the sun was shining, the sky a bubbly blue.
    The building proved deserted upon a quick inspection. I set Harmony's BB gun down on the desk, ignoring the fact I'd held it in front of me like a real weapon as I quickly looked through my office and the studio for traces of life.
    Luckily, not only was the studio free from creepy strangers, it was also free from red paint spelling out threatening words. Donna had made good on her word, and as I very quickly stuck my head in the office, I noticed she'd even set fresh sunflowers—my favorites—in a vase inside the room.
    It smelled like a light mixture of false outdoors and fake wildflowers combined with Lysol and fresh-linen aerosol. The gesture was sweet, and I made a mental note to swing by Sweets and thank Donna for everything she'd done to get the place cleaned up in time for class.
    I quickly grabbed a notebook from the desk and went back to the studio, where I plopped on the floor and started scratching down a few last-minute adjustments to my standard first-timer's lesson plan.
    Today wasn't my first day teaching. When I'd lived in Los Angeles, I'd mostly been a performer, but I supplemented my income by teaching bachelorette and birthday party routines at the studio where my company was based. The extra cash infusion helped in a city where a cup of coffee cost a small pile of cash, and gas was more sacred than holy water.
    I was feeling slightly nervous, however, since this was the first time teaching in my own studio. If I lost students…well, I couldn't afford to lose students. But I also truly wanted to provide a good experience and show women that they could be sexy and fun and flirty, no matter what age or level of experience.
    It didn't take me long to add a few new twists to the lesson plan, and I was feeling significantly fewer butterflies banging around my small intestine by the time my first student moseyed in. Of course it was Barbara Jones, a woman with a nose longer than Pinocchio's, who used it to sniff out gossip like a bloodhound.
    "Oh, hello, Misty. It's been so long." Bony Barbara craned her neck around the door. "Am I early?"
    "Just on time." I smiled and stood up, waving her into the studio. "How are you?"
    "I'm well. Very well." Mrs. Jones vaguely resembled a mouse, and if she had whiskers, they'd be twitching at the moment. I was reminded of my earlier thought that if I could teach Mrs. Jones burlesque, I'd feel just as accomplished as if I'd taught a robot to tango.
    She peered at me. "And you? How are you…coping with everything?"
    I gave a small, internal sigh while I plastered on a big, fake grin. Straight to the point , I thought, though thankfully my mouth said, "Coping with what?"
    "Oh, you know." Mrs. Jones glanced around as if looking for a hidden camera. "The whole…Mr. Jenkins business. I heard from Betty Sue, who thought Marianne had heard it at Froggy's."
    "Oh, interesting." I looked around. "I'm not sure what they heard, but they wouldn't be letting me teach dance classes if I had been found guilty, now would they?"
    I felt like cheese would start oozing from my mouth pretty soon with how fake my smile was—even though Barbara didn't seem to notice. She was too busy making her way over to the closet and poking around places she didn't belong.
    "Do you need something?" I asked.
    Barbara looked surprised. "I just…I was going to hang my purse up. This isn't a coat closet?"
    She flung the door open to the props closet before I had a chance to respond. "Ah…I see. My apologies."
    "Those are for class," I said, my voice dripping with sweetness. "Don't worry. By the time you